


Rue

by Wolf_of_Lilacs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1940s, Asexual Tom Riddle, F/F, Female Tom Riddle, Frottage, Kissing, Memory Alteration, teenage experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 08:36:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17763428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_of_Lilacs/pseuds/Wolf_of_Lilacs
Summary: Minerva has high hopes for tonight's prefect patrol. Tommie has plans of her own.





	Rue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Reversion, or a Homecoming](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10928982) by [Wolf_of_Lilacs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_of_Lilacs/pseuds/Wolf_of_Lilacs). 



> This is not meant to be representative of asexuality. 
> 
> Occurs in the same universe as Reversion, but reading it isn't required to understand this.

"Is everyone present?" Head Girl Lucretia Black asks the room at large.

Minerva glances briefly at her fellow Gryffindor prefects. All are here, including the anxious-to-the-point-of-trembling fifth-year boy and girl, both of whom have their hands tucked under their arms. Honestly, do they think someone from the other Houses will eat them alive?

"I was thinking that for tonight's patrols, we would mix and match Houses and years a bit," Black continues. "You know, to encourage inter-House unity in these troubled times. Is that all right with you, Diggory?"

Fitz Diggory, the sandy-haired, ridiculously attractive Hufflepuff Head Boy, nods agreeably. "Definitely. All of you really should stop treating each other like strangers. We're a big, happy prefect family. Just leave all your prejudices and whatnot back in your common rooms where they belong."

They don't even belong there, Minerva thinks, but refrains from interjecting.

Mark Walters, Minerva's sixth-year male counterpart and the only Muggle-Born among the current crop of prefects (unless Riddle is, too, but Minerva doubts this, given how the Slytherin fifth- and sixth-years seem to defer to her), groans. "That sounds great, but if they pair me with one of the Slytherin Pureblood motherfuckers..."

"Language!" she chides, elbowing him in the ribs.

Walters rolls his eyes. "Septimus Weasley didn't have us do batty shite like this," he mutters mutinously.

"All right, let's get started," Black says, rubbing her hands together with a rather sinister smile. "Malfoy, with Lee." (Slytherin and Ravenclaw: a safe match.) "Walters, with me." (Mark blinks, then relaxes. Lucretia is fine, as Slytherins go, if not terrifying.) "McGonagall, with Riddle." there is no questioning the hard, peremptory glare Lucretia gives Riddle. Whatever deference the sixth-year Malfoy gives her (his eyes keep darting from Riddle to Lucretia and back again), Lucretia is completely exempt.

Minerva stops listening after her assignment is given, out of…well, fine. Out of excitement.

Riddle, Riddle, Riddle…

The name sends a thrill through her. Riddle, standing quietly with the other Slytherins: stoic, statuesque…Her dark hair falls about her shoulders. her arms hang loosely at her sides. She leaves her Housemates as everyone begins to sort themselves out, making her way inexorably toward Minerva, her steps unusually silent across the flagstones.

"Well, shall we begin?" Everyone else has finished pairing off, Minerva realizes with a start, and have begun to scatter on their assigned patrols.

"Yes, I suppose." Minerva shakes her head in a vain attempt to dispel the haze of her thoughts.

"Onward, then," Riddle says, turning and walking swiftly away. Minerva runs to catch up, flustered.

They do not speak for the first few minutes, during which they see nothing out of the ordinary. Minerva walks, stealing periodic glances at her companion from beneath her lashes. Tommie Riddle, a year younger than she, and utterly enigmatic. Professor Dumbledore dislikes her, Minerva knows (who doesn't know? Their feud is legendary), but she is at a loss as to why. Riddle is the top of her year just as she is, likely with greater potential than Minerva herself. Surely the professor should enjoy teaching someone such as she…

"While I am flattered at your ogling, McGonagall," Riddle says, breaking into Minerva's reverie, "I would appreciate it if you would cease. And for your own sake, learn some subtlety."

"I'm— I'm sorry," Minerva stutters. How could Riddle unsettle her so easily?

"Hmm." Riddle slows, steepling her fingers in a very Dumbledorian pose. "Is there something you wish to say to me? Something you would like to ask, but for which even your Gryffindor bravery isn't up to scratch?" She stops walking altogether and eyes Minerva imperiously.

"Who are you?" Minerva whispers. It's an inane question, and she wishes she'd come up with something more. Riddle blinks. Surprising her, Minerva decides, is a victory.

"What a strange question," she replies, moving closer to Minerva. "Certainly one with a host of answers, each more intricate than the last." She rests her hands on Minerva's shoulders, and Minerva can see her eyelashes, long and straight and black.

Well, she certainly rallied fast. "Each more intricate than the last, eh?" Minerva suppresses an amused giggle; Riddle flushes. "I've been watching you since your first year," Minerva admits. "I still don't know anything about you, except that you're very good at everything you do." 

Riddle leans closer. What color are her eyes? Minerva can't tell if they're such a dark brown that they appear black, or if they are indeed black, the same lustrous shade as her hair. "I owe you nothing, McGonagall," she hisses, her breath warm against Minerva's skin. "We have never actually spoken before today."

"But don't you remember when—when I helped you find a Transfiguration book last year?" It wasn't much, but it was something, right? And, okay, Riddle thanked her, but also looked rather annoyed and humiliated, but still…

"Of course," Riddle hums. "But that was hardly a proper conversation." Her voice is a lilting, rich contralto. Minerva wants to listen to it for as long as she can…

"We could fix that, right now," Minerva hedges.

Riddle pushes her gently against the wall of the corridor. "We could, but I don't believe that's what you really want from me."

Minerva's heart is pounding. Riddle is so close.

"I think you want…this." Riddle kisses her. It's surprisingly clumsy. Riddle's nose knocks against hers and she seems unsure of how to proceed after she begins. But—

Oh—

Where they touch, warmth spreads. Minerva's lips part in surprise and pleasure. But Riddle doesn't continue.

She hasn't moved, merely pulling her head back. Minerva expected more, somehow. Riddle is, it would seem, entirely inexperienced. Well, in that case…

Minerva returns the kiss vehemently. Riddle's mouth opens, and Minerva pushes their tongues together. Riddle responds gamely, but even this doesn't last.

"So, I was right," Riddle purrs. "How badly do you want me, Minerva?" The way Riddle says her name sends a wave of pure, undiluted need through Minerva, and she draws Riddle as close as she possibly can, her hands tangling in Riddle's silky locks.

"That's it, Minerva. Don't stop." How can she possibly sound so unaffected? Minerva thinks peevishly. Not fair!

With that, Minerva does something she would never have done otherwise. Riddle's eyes are closed, and her breathing even. It's very much time to change that. She brings up her knee to rub between Riddle's legs. Riddle inhales sharply, stiffening, but doesn't protest. That's it!

"Show me, Minerva, if that's what you have in mind," she says, her voice still perfectly steady. Minerva obliges eagerly. She pulls Riddle against her, ravishing her mouth like she's dreamed of doing.

"Let's move into a classroom," she suggests blearily.

"Your call." Minerva draws Riddle after her into an open classroom, conveniently nearby.

Eventually, after more of the same, Riddle pulls away, her expression rueful. "I'm sorry," she says. "I thought this would be different."

"What do you mean?" Minerva asks, missing Riddle's closeness.

"I thought—" Riddle moves away and leans against a desk. "I thought I would enjoy kissing you. I find you attractive. I enjoy looking at you."

"I'm probably not very good," Minerva says, raising a doubtful eyebrow. (She knows she's good. Walters has told her so.)

Riddle shifts. "To use a cliché, it is definitely me and not you." She appears terribly vulnerable in this moment, in the way she dips her head and refuses to meet Minerva's eyes.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of." Minerva's disappointed, yes, but Riddle needs reassurance. "It doesn't always work with some people, that's all."

"I've not found anyone," Riddle admits.

"You have a very long time ahead of you," Minerva assures her. "You're, what, not even sixteen?"

"Right."

Minerva turns away to straighten out her robes, but in the moment she looks away from Riddle, she hears the swift drawing of a wand…then nothing.

*

Minerva and Riddle finish their patrol without incident. Minerva's head throbs. "Are you all right?" Riddle asks, solicitous. "Do you need the hospital wing?"

"I don't know. There was no one in that classroom, was there?" Minerva nods back at a half-open door she could have sworn they'd just come out of, though she doesn't know when they went in.

"No," Riddle replies easily. "Nothing whatsoever."

"Well, all right then." Minerva's head gives another throb. "vet's finish up quickly."

When she returns to her dormitory, Minerva goes to bed and revels in her usual fantasies of Tommie Riddle, and knows she will never even have the chance of a kiss.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [il chinotto](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18335813) by Anonymous 




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